User blog:Squibstress/A Slant-Told Tale - Chapter 19
Title: A Slant-Told Tale Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual content; violence; abuse; alcoholism Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Nineteen 12 August 1961 It had turned into another unusually hot Balearic summer day, and Minerva begged off going to the beach, claiming the beginnings of a headache. “You two go on, though,” she said. “But mind you don’t get overheated.” “Yes, Mother,” said Alastor, earning him a grin from Malcolm. He and the boy went down to the beach and decided to have a walk along the water, letting the cooling waves lap at their ankles and feet as they walked, and he was glad to have a bit of time alone with Malcolm to try to get to know him a little better. The three of them had relaxed a bit over the past two days. The morning after the first night, Alastor had seen Malcolm flush when he and Minerva had emerged from the bedroom in their dressing gowns, and he noticed that Minerva hadn’t been quite able to look her son in the eye. But the awkwardness seemed to have dissipated, and this morning there had been no blushing or averted eyes, Alastor was pleased to note. Despite the Colloportus he had cast before they turned out the lights that first night, Minerva had been nervous about making love with Malcolm so close by, and although she had eventually relaxed into the idea when Alastor had spooned up against her and caressed her breasts through her nightdress, she had been far quieter than she usually was. Minerva wouldn’t agree, he was certain, but Alastor privately felt that the danger of being caught added a dash of titillation to the proceedings. It reminded him just a bit of the few times at school he had sneaked into a disused classroom with Trudie Hopkirk for a bit of snogging and petting. Not that he would share that information with Minerva. Of course, if there were some way to get Minerva into one those old classrooms at Hogwarts … Watch yerself, boyo, he thought sternly. You don’t want to get a stiffy when you’re walking right beside her son. Not when you’re practically in your skivvies. Malcolm was quiet as they sloshed along, and Alastor reckoned he was thinking about something. He had an inkling what it was but decided to let the boy bring it up in his own good time. When they stopped after a few minutes, they stood tossing bits of driftwood into the water, and Malcolm came out with it. “Are you and Mum going to get married?” “I don’t know, Malcolm,” Alastor answered. “We haven’t talked about it, and to be honest, I haven’t thought about it.” “Oh.” “Are you asking because you like the idea, or because you don’t?” Alastor asked. Malcolm shrugged. “Does it bother you? Me and your mother?” Malcolm answered quickly, “No. I’m glad for her … for both of you. She seems happy. I just wondered if …” he trailed off, shrugging again. “If I was going to try to replace your dad?” “No … not that, not exactly.” “What, then?” “Just if … Mum wanted to get married again.” “Do you think that’s what she wants?” Alastor asked. He truly hadn’t considered the notion, and Minerva had certainly never made any noises about it. “I don’t know,” answered Malcolm. “It didn’t work out too well for her before.” Alastor felt a wave of sympathy for the boy. He hadn’t planned on asking Malcolm about his dad in his quest to discover what had happened to Gerald Macnair—he wasn’t quite that hardened yet—but if the young man was going to provide an opening, Alastor thought he’d take it. Gently, though. “Why do you say that, Malcolm?” He saw a look he couldn’t quite pinpoint cross the young man’s face. “Well, look at what happened,” said Malcolm. “You mean your dad’s disappearing.” “Yes. If you want to call it that.” Alastor’s Auror senses zinged at that. “What do you mean?” “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” “Sorry, Malcolm, but it isn’t obvious to me,” Alastor said. “What are you trying to tell me?” Malcolm turned his face toward the sea again—deliberately, Alastor thought—and said, “He ran off. With another woman. Didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “I don’t know. Did he?” “It’s the most likely conclusion,” said Malcolm, turning back to face Alastor. “I’m not sure I agree,” said Alastor. “He might have had an accident … been killed …” A look of anguish passed over the boy’s face. “Yeah, but wouldn’t there have been some trace? A … a body?” “There isn’t always,” said Alastor. “No, I guess not,” Malcolm allowed. They were silent for a few moments, Alastor trying not to peer at Malcolm but watching him carefully nonetheless. “Alastor, things were … things were bad. At the end.” This was spoken quietly but forthrightly. Alastor’s heart started beating fast, but his long law enforcement experience spoke to him: Careful, man. Don’t spook the witness. Let him tell it his own way. He wants to tell it … “Do you want to tell me about it, Malcolm?” He put a hand gently on the young man’s shoulder, although he had to reach up to do it. Malcolm heaved a deep sigh, and Alastor dropped the hand. “I don’t know … it’s private, you know? Mum wouldn’t like it.” “No,” agreed Alastor. “She might not. And I don’t think you should do anything that would make you uncomfortable. But I care about you and your mum, and I’d never say anything to anyone. Not even her, if you didn’t want me to. I guess I just want you to know that you can talk to me, Malcolm. Sometimes a man needs someone—someone not his wife or his mother, or even his best mate—to talk to. To bounce things off of. Get what I’m saying?” “I guess,” said Malcolm. “Mum never talks about it, you know.” “I know. Sometimes I think she should. It might help her be happier … more comfortable with herself, if you see what I’m saying.” Malcolm gave a terse nod. Alastor continued, “But she’s got to make up her mind to do it. I’m not going to force her. But I think, Malcolm, maybe you need to talk about it too. And I’m just telling you that I’ll listen, if you want. And I’ll say nothing to anybody about it.” He waited. “I remember a lot of shouting,” said Malcolm, his face turned away from Alastor once again. “Father, I mean. Mum never … she never raised her voice. He just … crazy stuff, you know? And he … he cried. I remember that. Elgar—that’s our house-elf—” Alastor nodded “—he’d take me out when Father would go into one of his rages. It was when he was drinking, mostly. They tried to keep it from me, but I knew …” Alastor understood. Children always knew. His mam had had trouble with the drink, and even at the age of five or six, young Alastor had understood about the empty Firewhisky bottles and their connection with the switch that reddened his bum on a regular basis until his da had arranged for old Madam Delancey to teach the Moody children on afternoons while he was out in the Donegal countryside collecting herbs and other potions ingredients for the area’s apothecaries and potioneers. Alastor didn’t resent his mother—not then, not now—but he felt sorry for her, and he had grieved for her when she died during his first year at Hogwarts. Malcolm said, “One time, Elgar was out, and Father came home in the afternoon—it was usually in the evenings—and Mum was teaching. He must’ve pulled her out of the lesson, because when I came downstairs to see what was going on, I heard Mum saying he was going to ruin us—did he want her to lose all her pupils?—things like that. Then Father started shouting, saying … really awful things, Alastor. About Mum. And about Gran and Granddad McGonagall. He said maybe his father had been right all along. And Mum was trying to shush him, and he pushed her into the wall, and then she saw me on the stairs—and this is the only time I ever remember her yelling—she shouted at me to go to my room and stay there. “So I did. I heard some more shouting, then it got really quiet, and that scared me. I was really scared, Alastor, but finally I sneaked down the stairs again, but they weren’t there. I don’t know where they were, but I went back to my room, and then a little while later Mum came in and said we were going out. She took me to a wizarding pub, and she got me something to eat, and then we went to get ice cream,” he said with a small smile that quickly melted into a frown. “She didn’t have anything, though. I remember that. “She didn’t say much about what happened. She just said that Father was upset and didn’t mean any of what he said. She said he was still sad about Grandmother Macnair—she had died that winter, and … well, you probably know about Grandfather Macnair—” “I do. It was a terrible thing,” said Alastor gravely. “Yeah. So anyway, Mum said Father was just still sad about that, and that sometimes grief made people do things they wouldn’t normally do.” The boy looked down at his large, sandy feet, and Alastor had a sudden vision of the child he had been. Still was, in some respects. He waited a minute before posing the question that had been uppermost in his mind during Malcolm’s monologue: “Malcolm. Son. Did your dad hurt your mum?” Malcolm looked startled for a moment, but to his credit he kept his gaze steady on Alastor. “No. I don’t think so. She looked okay … I mean there was nothing wrong with her that I could see. Anyway, she’s … she was stronger than my father. Magically.” Alastor nodded. “She’s a very strong witch,” he said. “And you were a canny lad to have noticed it at … what were you? Ten?” “Eleven. It was right after I got my letter from Beauxbatons.” “Right. That was a bit before your dad went missing, wasn’t it?” “Yes. About a month,” said Malcolm. “So you think maybe your dad did a bunk because he was unhappy with your mum?” “Maybe. But it wasn’t her fault, he—” Alastor interrupted quickly, “I know that, Malcolm.” After a moment, he said, “Have you ever considered, Malcolm, that maybe your dad ran off because he loved you and your mum and didn’t want to hurt you anymore?” The boy’s eyes widened a bit, then went back to their usual shape and size. “Maybe,” he said again, but Alastor could tell he didn’t believe it. And the Auror couldn’t blame him; Alastor didn’t buy it, either. He decided to press on. “How were things right before he disappeared? The same? Better? Worse?” “About the same, I guess. I didn’t hear them fight like that again, though, but they might have done during the times Elgar took me out. I think Father was drinking even more, and one time, when he was out, a bunch of men came to the house. I was in my room studying with Elgar, but they must’ve got Mum out of her lesson again, because she summoned Elgar. I went out to the balcony above the staircase, and I could hear them talking a bit. Mum was offering them tea and biscuits, but they said—and I remember this clearly—they said they didn’t come for a pure-blood tea party. They wanted their money, they said, and Mum said how much did Father owe, and they said five hundred Galleons.” He looked at Alastor, who whistled and said, “That’s a lot of money.” “Yes,” said Malcolm glumly, and Alastor asked, “What happened then?” Malcolm continued, “She said she didn’t have it. And the men said … they said maybe they’d need to leave something to remind Father about his debts. Maybe if his wife had some curse scars … So Mum asked them if there was anything she could give them in lieu of the money. They … they laughed.” Malcolm looked down and kicked his feet miserably in the wet sand. When he looked back up, he was deeply flushed, and Alastor’s heart leapt into his throat. He could hardly croak out: “And then what?” “They said … I don’t want to repeat it. But the idea was that Mum wasn’t worth that much. So Mum offered them her wedding ring. They said okay, but emeralds were cheap these days, so what else did she have? There was some silver, she said, and then I heard them opening some cabinets.” “Anything else?” Alastor asked, his heart still pounding. “No. I don’t think so. They went away after that.” Alastor tried not to let Malcolm hear the relief in his voice. “Don’t you think those men might have had something to do with your dad’s disappearance? If he owed them more money …” “I don’t think so,” answered Malcolm. “Because I heard Mum and Elgar talking after they left. Elgar—” He stopped. “What, Malcolm. It’s all right; you can tell me.” “Elgar offered to … to hurt those men. So they wouldn’t come back.” He looked at Alastor for a reaction, so Alastor said, “He’s a very good, a very loyal elf. He loves your mother.” The boy gave a small smile. “Yes.” Then anxiously: “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Alastor? I’d hate to get Elgar in trouble.” “Of course I won’t. I don’t think your elf did anything wrong, any road, so there’s nothing to tell that would get him in trouble.” That wasn’t entirely true; house-elves had been executed for threatening wizards before, but Alastor thought the last time had been more than fifty years previously. Malcolm looked relieved. He said: “So Mum said no, she didn’t think that was necessary. The ring alone was worth more than five hundred Galleons, whatever the men said, so they wouldn’t be back to stir up trouble they didn’t need.” “I’m sorry,” said Alastor. “That’s a lot for a kid to have dealt with.” “It wasn’t me, it was Mum dealing with it,” Malcolm protested. “Yes, but you hearing it … it was a heavy burden, I’m guessing. Weighed on your mind.” “It did,” agreed Malcolm. “So how long after that was it that your dad disappeared?” “About two weeks, I guess. I was at school when he went missing. The last time I saw him was when he and Mum saw me off.” “You miss him?” Alastor asked. “Yeah … this is going to sound bad, Alastor, but …” “What, Malcolm?” “In some ways, I’m glad he … he left. I mean, it was hard at first, knowing he was gone, and then when Mum came back to Scotland, I felt kind of alone, but in a way it was better. I was at school, so it wasn’t like I was hanging around the house wondering where he’d got to, and then when Mum got the job at Hogwarts, and I started coming home for holidays, it was better. Mum was more relaxed, there were no more worries about money … no fights. And then I got to come to Hogwarts and see Mum more, and … then … well … she met you, and she’s happy. “Not that I wanted anything to happen to my father …” he added quickly. “No, I know you didn’t,” reassured Alastor. “You know, I understand a little how you feel. When my mam died, I was eleven—just come to Hogwarts. And when I went home that Christmas, it was very sad, of course, but it was also a bit of a relief not to have the fights.” “Your mother and father fought?” said Malcolm with surprise. “Yes. See, Mam drank … like your dad,” said Alastor. “I didn’t know that.” “No reason you should. I’m only telling you so you know you’re not alone. There’s lots of folks that have trouble with the drink—it’s a sickness, like dragon pox. And there’s lots of kids lose parents to it. And lots of ’em—even if they wouldn’t say so out loud—I think lots of ’em are just a little relieved mixed in with the grief. And you know, Malcolm, I think it’s all right to feel that way. Doesn’t mean you didn’t love your dad. I know I loved my mam.” Malcolm nodded slowly. Then he bent down and picked up another piece of driftwood, flinging it into the sea. “Thanks, Alastor,” he said. “For telling me about your … your mam. And, um … thanks for the talk.” Alastor nodded and clapped the young man on the arm. “Why don’t we get back and see how your mother’s faring? I don’t want one of her looks if we get back too late and sunburned into the bargain,” he said. As they walked back down the beach toward the cottage, Malcolm said, “It would be all right, you know. If you were to get married.” It was easy to forget, Alastor thought, that Malcolm was only sixteen. His height, combined with what Alastor had both heard and observed of the boy’s sharp intelligence and his considerable magical talent, made people prone to treating him as if he were a grown man rather than a child, with all a child’s insecurities and his way of looking at the world. To a child—especially one brought up on the edges of pure-blood wizarding society in France and Scotland—the natural consequence of love was marriage. He’d felt it himself at that age, when he’d known with the certainty of a seventeen-year-old that Trudie Hopkirk was his One True Love, and that they’d get married as soon as she’d finished school and he was done with Auror training. He’d even taken to eating only noodles and broth that first year of his training, trying to put away what little money he could from his stipend to save for a ring. But a year’s separation had done what all the worried man-to-man talks from his da could not: Alastor had slowly started to realise that, more often than not, out of sight was out of mind, and that out of mind became out of love, especially when there were girls—women—close by who, come down to it, had more in common with Alastor Brendan Moody than a shared common room and a mutual appreciation for the Ballycastle Bats. He’d felt guilty at first, when he’d rid himself of his virginity with an ambitious secretary from the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, then progressively less so as the weeks wore on and the letters from Trudie had got less frequent and more distant. It had been a big relief when he’d finally got her letter saying she was horribly sorry, but they had better break it off. She’d met this Hufflepuff, you see, and … . Alastor had felt only a momentary pang of jealousy, then tossed the letter in the fireplace and met his lady friend for a drink at the Leaky. He had a four-month dalliance with her, then they had parted amicably and with no regret. He’d enjoyed their brief affair, but he hadn’t fallen in love, though he had enjoyed the time they had spent out of bed possibly as much as the time in it, and he later realised that it hadn’t even mattered that she supported Puddlemere United. He could tell none of this, of course, to Malcolm Macnair. So he only said, “I think we should just see how we go.” And after another minute: “I do love your mum, Malcolm.” The boy gave him the first genuine smile since their walk had begun. “Hell, Alastor, even a blind Boggart could see that.” He was his mother’s son, no doubt about that. Alastor said, “Well, if I’m so bleedin’ obvious about things, I might have to turn in my badge, then.” Malcolm laughed, and Alastor joined him. Growing more serious, Alastor said, “Even if we never get married, Malcolm, I’m going to try to take care of her.” To his surprise, Malcolm laughed again. “Don’t let her catch you.” “Sage advice, my boy, sage advice. What do you say we head down to the market? Surprise your mother by picking up the things for dinner?” “Great idea.” ← Back to Chapter 18 On to Chapter 20 → Chapters of Slant-Told Tale, A